Crossing the waters of the Estero, they drew up alongside the wharf, where they had landed less than twenty-four hours previously. One of the ship’s boats was there, and the coxswain in charge hailed them. "Hurry aboard, you leathernecks. I’ve all the stuff from your camp. The ship’s under sailin’ orders fer Nicaragua, where there’s a hot little revolution goin’ on. What’s that, one of you hurt? Well, they shouldn’t let boys carry guns anyway; they’re all the time a-shootin’ of themselves. Steady, lads! Handle him with care, and make a soft place fer him in the cockpit with them cushions. Shove off, for’rd! Full speed ahead! Say good-bye to this heck of an island, fellers; we’re off this time, for sure!" CHAPTER XX "TO THE DITCH AT PANAMA" "There goes the good old _Denver_, Mike. I guess she’ll reach the fighting grounds before we do." "Don’t let that be for worryin’ of ye, Dick, me lad," responded Corporal Dorlan. "We’ll be havin’ a bellyful of it, I’m thinkin’, if all signs is correct. Nevertheless, she was one of the foinest little crafts I’ve ever served on, and they was a grand lot of Navy officers on her, too; but I’m glad to git back to the Corps again. I’m a marine, Dick, through and through, and though I get along with them Navy men well enough, I like to serve with me own kind best of all." The old veteran and young drummer were standing on the wharf at Cristobal, at the Atlantic end of the ten-mile stretch of land across the Isthmus of Panama known as the Canal Zone, which by treaty with the Panamanian Government had come under perpetual control of the United States. Fading away in the dim distance was the ship which for many months had been Dick’s official home. Diverted from her original orders, she had put in at Cristobal long enough to land all her marines, with the exception of Henry Cabell, who was still under the surgeon’s care; and now she was bound for Bluefields, on the Mosquito Coast of Nicaragua. In order to fill existing vacancies in a regiment of marines hurrying to the scene of action on board the Naval Transport _Dixie_, which ship was just appearing above the distant horizon, the guard of the _Denver_ had been unceremoniously "dumped on the beach," as the men put it. There was no question that the revolution in progress, most active on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua, was a lively one. Marines were being assembled from all available points, even reducing the guard at Camp Elliott to a mere skeleton detachment. These men from the Zone were the first to leave for Nicaragua, and the army men stationed there had watched them depart with feelings of envy. "Blame it all! Those marines are always getting into something. I’ll bet I take on with that outfit the next time I sign up," more than one regular army "file" had been heard to say.